Salem Chapel Volume I Part 3

Vincent, trying hard to speak indifferently, and quite succeeding so far as Phoebe Tozer was concerned; for who could venture to a.s.sociate the minister of Salem, even as a victim, with the bright eyes of Lady Western? "I thought it strange to see her there, whoever she was."

"Oh, how insensible you are!" murmured Phoebe, across the table.

Perhaps, considering all things, it was not strange that Phoebe should imagine her own pink bloom to have dimmed the young pastor's appreciation of other beauty.

"But it was Mrs. Hilyard I inquired about, and not this Lady--Lady what, Miss Phoebe?" asked the reverend hypocrite; "I don't profess to be learned in t.i.tles, but hers is surely a strange one. I thought dowager was another word for an old woman."

"She's a beautiful young creature," broke in the b.u.t.terman. "I mayn't approve of such goings-on, but I can't shut my eyes. She deals with me regular, and I can tell you the shop looks like a different place when them eyes of hers are in it. She's out of our line, and she's out of your line, Mr. Vincent," added Tozer, apologetically, coming down from his sudden enthusiasm, "or I mightn't say as much as I do say, for she's gay, and always a-giving parties, and spending her life in company, as I don't approve of; but to look in her face, you couldn't say a word against her--nor I couldn't. She might lead a man out of his wits, and I wouldn't not to say blame him. If the angels are nicer to look at, it's a wonder to me!" Having reached to this pitch of admiration, the alarmed b.u.t.terman came to a sudden pause, looked round him somewhat dismayed, wiped his forehead, rubbed his hands, and evidently felt that he had committed himself, and was at the mercy of his audience. Little did the guilty Tozer imagine that never before--not when giving counsel upon chapel business in the height of wisdom, or complimenting the sermon as only a chapel-manager, feeling in his heart that the seats were letting, could--had he spoken so much to the purpose in young Vincent's hearing, or won so much sympathy from the minister. As for the female part of the company, they were at first too much amazed for speech. "Upon my word, Papa!" burst from the lips of the half-laughing, half-angry Phoebe. Mrs. Tozer, who had been cutting bread with a large knife, hewed at her great loaf in silence, and not till that occupation was over divulged her sentiments.

"Some bread, Mr. Vincent?" said at last that injured woman: "that's how it is with all you men. Niver a one, however you may have been brought up, nor whatever pious ways you may have been used to, can stand out against a pretty face. Thank goodness, _we_ know better. Beauty's but skin-deep, Mr. Vincent; and, for my part, I can't see the difference between one pair o' eyes and another. I daresay I see as well out of mine as Lady Western does out o' hers, though Tozer goes on about 'em.

It's a mercy for the world, women ain't carried away so; and to hear a man as is the father of a family, and ought to set an example, a-talking like this in his own house! What is the minister to think, Tozer? and Phoebe, a girl as is as likely to take up notions about her looks as most? It's what I didn't expect from you."

"La, mamma! as if there was any likeness between Lady Western and me!"

cried Phoebe, lifting a not-unexpectant face across the table. But Mr.

Vincent was not equal to the occasion. In that _locale_, and under these circ.u.mstances, a tolerable breadth of compliment would not have shocked anybody's feelings; but the pastor neglected his opportunities. He sat silent, and made no reply to Phoebe's look. He even at this moment, if truth must be told, devoted himself to the well-filled plate which Mrs.

Tozer's hospitality had set before him. He would fain have made a diversion in poor Tozer's favour had anything occurred to him in the thrill of sudden excitement which Tozer's declaration had surprised him into. As it was, tingling with anxiety to hear more of that unknown enchantress, whose presence made suns.h.i.+ne even in the b.u.t.terman's shop, no indifferent words would find their way to Vincent's lips. So he bestowed his attentions instead upon the comfortable supper to which everybody around him, quite unexcited by this little interlude, was doing full justice, and, not venturing to ask, listened with a palpitating heart.

"You see, Mr. Vincent," resumed Mrs. Tozer, "that t.i.tle of 'the young Dowager' has been given to Lady Western by them as is her chief friends in Carlingford. Such little things comes to our knowledge as they mightn't come to other folks in our situation, by us serving the best families. There's but two families in Grange Lane as don't deal with Tozer, and one of them's a new-comer as knows no better, and the other a stingy old bachelor, as we wouldn't go across the road to get his custom. A well-kept house must have its b.u.t.ter, and its cheese, and its ham regular; but when there's but a man and a maid, and them nigh as bilious as the master, and picking bits of cheese as one never heard the name of, and as has to be sent to town for, or to the Italian shop, it stands to reason neither me nor Tozer cares for a customer like that."

"Oh, Ma, what _does_ Mr. Vincent care about the customers?" cried Phoebe, in despair.

"He might, then, before all's done," said the deaconess. "We couldn't be as good friends to the chapel, nor as serviceable, nor as well thought on in our connection, if it wasn't for the customers. So you see, sir, Lady Western, she's a young lady not a deal older than my Phoebe, but by reason of having married an old man, she has a step-son twice as old as herself, and he's married; and so this gay pretty creature here, she's the Dowager Lady Western. I've seen her with _young_ Lady Western, her step-daughter-in-law, and young Lady Western was a deal older, and more serious-looking, and knew twenty times more of life than the Dowager--and you may be sure she don't lose the opportunity to laugh at it neither--and so that's how the name arose."

"Thank you for the explanation; and I suppose, of course, she lives in Grange Lane," said the pastor, still bending with devotion over his plate.

"Dear, dear, you don't eat nothink, Mr. Vincent," cried his benevolent hostess; "that comes of study, as I'm always a-telling Tozer. A deal better, says I, to root the minister out, and get him to move about for the good of his health, than to put him up to sermons and coorses, when we're all as pleased as Punch to start with. She lives in Grange Lane, to be sure, as they most all do as is anything in Carlingford. Fas.h.i.+on's all--but I like a bit of stir and life myself, and couldn't a-bear them close walls. But it would be news in Salem that we was spending our precious time a-talking over a lady like Lady Western; and as for the woman at the back of the chapel, don't you be led away to go to everybody as Mrs. Brown sends you to, Mr. Vincent. She's a good soul, but she's always a-picking up somebody. Tozer's been called up at twelve o'clock, when we were all a-bed, to see somebody as was dying; and there was no dying about it, but only Mrs. Brown's way. My son, being at his eddication for a minister, makes me feel mother-like to a young pastor, Mr. Vincent. I'd be grateful to anybody as would give my boy warning when it comes to be his time."

"I almost wonder," said Vincent, with a little natural impatience, "that you did not struggle on with Mr. Tufton for a little longer, till your son's education was finished."

Mrs. Tozer held up her head with gratified pride. "He'll be two years before he's ready, and there's never no telling what may happen in that time," said the pleased mother, forgetting how little favourable to her guest was any antic.i.p.ated contingency. The words were very innocently spoken, but they had their effect upon Vincent. He made haste to extricate himself from the urgent hospitality which surrounded him. He was deafer than ever to Miss Phoebe's remarks, and listened with a little impatience to Tozer's wisdom. As soon as he could manage it, he left them, with abundant material for his thoughts. "There's never no telling what may happen in that time," rang in his ears as he crossed George Street to his lodging, and the young minister could scarcely check the disgust and impatience which were rising in his mind. In all the pride of his young intellect, to be advised by Tozer--to have warning stories told him of that unfortunate brother in Parson's Green, whose pretty wife made herself obnoxious to the deacons' wives--to have the support afforded by the b.u.t.terman to the chapel thrown in his face with such an undisguised claim upon his grat.i.tude--oh heaven, was this what Homerton was to come to? Perhaps he had been brought here, in all the young flush of his hopes, only to have the life crushed out of him by those remorseless chapel-managers, and room made over his tarnished fame and mortified expectations--over his body, as the young man said to himself in unconscious heroics--for young Tozer's triumphant entrance.

On the whole, it was not to be supposed that to see himself at the mercy of such a limited and jealous coterie--people proud of their liberality to the chapel, and altogether unable to comprehend the feelings of a sensitive and cultivated mind--could be an agreeable prospect to the young man. Their very approbation chafed him; and if he went beyond their level, or exceeded their narrow limit, what mercy was he to expect, what justice, what measure of comprehension? He went home with a bitterness of disgust in his mind far more intense and tragical than appeared to be at all necessary in the circ.u.mstances, and which only the fact that this was his first beginning in real life, and that his imagination had never contemplated the prominent position of the b.u.t.ter-shop and the Devons.h.i.+re Dairy, in what he fondly called his new sphere, could have justified. Perhaps no new sphere ever came up to the expectations of the neophyte; but to come, if not with too much gospel, yet with an intellectual Christian mission, an evangelist of refined nonconformity, an apostle of thought and religious opinion, and to sink suddenly into "coorses" of sermons and statistics of seat-letting in Salem--into tea-parties of deacons' wives, and singing-cla.s.ses--into the complacent society of those good people who were conscious of doing so much for the chapel and supporting the minister--that was a downfall not to be lightly thought of. Salem itself, and the new pulpit, which had a short time ago represented to poor Vincent that tribune from which he was to influence the world, that point of vantage which was all a true man needed for the making of his career, dwindled into a miserable scene of trade before his disenchanted eyes--a preaching shop, where his success was to be measured by the seat-letting, and his soul decanted out into periodical issue under the seal of Tozer & Co. Such, alas! were the indignant thoughts with which, the old Adam rising bitter and strong within him, the young Nonconformist hastened home.

And She was Lady Western--the gayest and brightest and highest luminary in all the society of Carlingford. As well love the moon, who no longer descends to Endymion, as lift presumptuous eyes to that sweeter planet which was as much out of reach of the Dissenting minister. Poor fellow!

his room did not receive a very cheerful inmate when he shut the door upon the world and sat down with his thoughts.

CHAPTER V.

It was about this time, when Mr. Vincent was deeply cast down about his prospects, and saw little comfort before or around him, and when, consequently, an interest apart from himself, and which could detach his thoughts from Salem and its leading members, was of importance, that his mother's letters began to grow specially interesting. Vincent could not quite explain how it was, but unquestionably those female epistles had expanded all at once; and instead of the limited household atmosphere hitherto breathing in them--an atmosphere confined by the strait cottage walls, shutting in the little picture which the absent son knew so well, and in which usually no figure appeared but those of his pretty sister Susan, and their little servant, and a feminine neighbour or two--instead of those strict household limits, the world, as we have said, had expanded round the widow's pen; the cottage walls or windows seemed to have opened out to disclose the universe beyond: life itself, and words the symbols of life, seemed quickened and running in a fuller current; and the only apparent reason for all this revolution was that one new acquaintance had interrupted Mrs. Vincent's seclusion,--one only visitor, who, from an unexpected call, recorded with some wonderment a month or two before, had gained possession of the house apparently, and was perpetually referred to--by Susan, in her gradually shortening letters, with a certain timidity and reluctance to p.r.o.nounce his name; by the mother with growing frequency and confidence. Vincent, a little jealous of this new influence, had out of the depths of his own depression written with some impatience to ask who this Mr. Fordham was, and how he had managed to establish himself so confidentially in the cottage, when his mother's letter astounded him with the following piece of news:--

"MY DEAREST BOY,--Mr. Fordham is, or at least will be--or, if I must be cautious, as your poor dear papa always warned me I should--wishes very much, and I hope will succeed in being--your brother, my own Arthur.

This is sudden news, but you know, and I have often told you, that a crisis always does seem to arrive suddenly; however much you may have been looking for it, or making up your mind to it, it does come like a blow at the time; and no doubt there is something in human nature to account for it, if I was a philosopher, like your dear papa and you.

Yes, my dear boy, that is how it is. Of course, I have known for some time past that he must have had a motive--no mother could long remain ignorant of that; and I can't say but what, liking Mr. Fordham so much, and seeing him _every way so unexceptionable_, except, perhaps, in the way of means, which we know nothing about, and which I have always thought a secondary consideration to character, as I always brought up my children to think, I was very much pleased. For you know, my dear boy, life is uncertain with the strongest; and I am becoming an old woman, and you will marry no doubt, and what is to become of Susan unless she does the same? So I confess I was pleased to see Mr.

Fordham's inclinations showing themselves. And now, dear Arthur, I've given them my blessing, and they are as happy as ever they can be, and nothing is wanting to Susan's joy but your sympathy. I need not suggest to my dear boy to write a few words to his sister to make her feel that he shares our happiness; for Providence has blessed me in affectionate children, and I can trust the instincts of my Arthur's heart; and oh! my dear son, how thankful I ought to be, and how deeply I ought to feel G.o.d's blessings! He has been a father to the fatherless, and the strength of the widow. To think that before old age comes upon me, and while I am still able to enjoy the sight of your prosperity, I should have the happiness of seeing you comfortably settled, and in the way to do your Master's work, and make yourself a good position, and Susan so happily provided for, and instead of losing her, a new son to love--indeed, I am overpowered, and can scarcely hold up my head under my blessings.

"Write immediately, my dearest boy, that we may have the comfort of your concurrence and sympathy, and I am always, with much love,

"My Arthur's loving mother,

"E. S. VINCENT.

"_P. S._--Mr. Fordham's account of his circ.u.mstances seems quite satisfactory. He is not in any profession, but has enough, he says, to live on very comfortably, and is to give me more particulars afterwards; which, indeed, I am ashamed to think he could imagine necessary, as it looks like want of trust, and as if Susan's happiness was not the first thing with us--but indeed I must learn to be prudent and _self-interested_ for your sakes."

It was with no such joyful feelings as his mother's that Vincent read this letter. Perhaps it was the jealousy with which he had heard of this unknown Mr. Fordham suddenly jumping into the friends.h.i.+p of the cottage, which made him contemplate with a most glum and suspicious aspect the stranger's promotion into the love of Susan, and the motherly regard of Mrs. Vincent. Hang the fellow! who was he? the young minister murmured over his spoiled breakfast: and there appeared to him in a halo of sweet memories, as he had never seen them in reality, the simple graces of his pretty sister, who was as much above the region of the Phoebe Tozers as that ineffable beauty herself who had seized with a glance the vacant throne of poor Arthur Vincent's heart. There was nothing ineffable about Susan--but her brother had seen no man even in Homerton whom he would willingly see master of her affections; and he was equally startled, dissatisfied, and alarmed by this information. Perhaps his mother's unworldliness was excessive. He imagined that _he_ would have exacted more positive information about the fortunes of a stranger who had suddenly appeared without any special business there, who had no profession, and who might disappear lightly as he came, breaking poor Susan's heart. Mr. Vincent forgot entirely the natural process by which, doubtless, his mother's affections had been wooed and won as well as Susan's. To him it was a stranger who had crept into the house, and gained ascendancy there. Half in concern for Susan, half in jealousy for Susan's brother eclipsed, but believing himself to be entirely actuated by the former sentiment, the young minister wrote his mother a hurried, anxious, not too good-tempered note, begging her to think how important a matter this was, and not to come to too rapid a conclusion; and after he had thus relieved his feelings, went out to his day's work in a more than usually uncomfortable frame of mind. Mrs. Vincent congratulated herself upon her son's happy settlement, as well as upon her daughter's engagement. What if Mr. Fordham should turn out as unsatisfactory as Salem Chapel? His day's work was a round of visits, which were not very particularly to Mr. Vincent's mind. It was the day for his weekly call upon Mr. Tufton and various other members of the congregation not more attractive; and at Siloam Cottage he was reminded of Mrs. Hilyard, whom he had not seen again. Here at least was something to be found different from the ordinary level. He went up to Back Grove Street, not without a vague expectation in his mind, wondering if that singular stranger would look as unlike the rest of his flock to-day as she had done on the former occasion. But when Vincent emerged into the narrow street, what was that unexpected object which threw the young man into such sudden agitation? His step quickened unconsciously into the rapid silent stride of excitement. He was at the shabby door before any of the onlookers had so much as perceived him in the street. For once more the narrow pavement owned a little tattered crowd gazing at the pawing horses, the big footman, the heavenly chariot; and doubtless the celestial visitor must be within.

Mr. Vincent did not pause to think whether he ought to disturb the interview which, no doubt, was going on up-stairs. He left himself no time to consider punctilios, or even to think what was right in the matter. He went up with that swell of excitement somehow winging his feet and making his footsteps light. How sweet that low murmur of conversation within as he reached the door? Another moment, and Mrs.

Hilyard herself opened it, looking out with some surprise, her dark thin head, in its black lace kerchief, standing out against the bit of shabby drab-coloured wall visible through the opening of the door. A look of surprise for one moment, then a gleam of something like mirth lighted in the dark eyes, and the thin lines about her mouth moved, though no smile came. "It is you, Mr. Vincent?--come in," she said. "I should not have admitted any other visitor, but you shall come in, as you are my ghostly adviser. Sit down. My dear, this gentleman is my minister and spiritual guide."

And She, sitting there in all her splendour, casting extraordinary lights of beauty round her upon the mean apartment, perfuming the air and making it musical with that rustle of woman's robes which had never been out of poor Vincent's ears since he saw her first;--She lifted her lovely face, smiled, and bowed her beautiful head to the young man, who could have liked to go down on his knees, not to ask anything, but simply to wors.h.i.+p. As he dared not do that, he sat down awkwardly upon the chair Mrs. Hilyard pointed to, and said, with embarra.s.sment, that he feared he had chosen a wrong time for his visit, and would return again--but nevertheless did not move from where he was.

"No, indeed; I am very glad to see you. My visitors are not so many, nowadays, that I can afford to turn one from the door because another chooses to come the same day. My dear, you understand Mr. Vincent has had the goodness to take charge of my spiritual affairs," said the mistress of the room, sitting down, in her dark poor dress, beside her beautiful visitor, and laying her thin hands, still marked with traces of the coa.r.s.e blue colour which rubbed off her work, and of the scars of the needle, upon the table where that work lay. "Thank heaven that's a luxury the poorest of us needs not deny herself. I liked your sermon last Sunday, Mr. Vincent. That about the fas.h.i.+on of treating serious things with levity, was meant for me. Oh, I didn't dislike it, thank you! One is pleased to think one's self of so much consequence. There are more ways of keeping up one's _amour propre_ than _your_ way, my lady. Now, don't you mean to go? You see I cannot possibly unburden my mind to Mr. Vincent while you are here."

"Did you ever hear anything so rude?" said the beauty, turning graciously to the young minister. "You call me a great lady, and all sorts of things, Rachel; but I never could be as rude as you are, and as you always were as long as I remember."

"My dear, the height of good-breeding is to be perfectly ill-bred when one pleases," said Mrs. Hilyard, taking her work upon her knee and putting on her thimble: "but though you are wonderfully pretty, you never had the makings of a thorough fine lady in you. You can't help trying to please everybody--which, indeed, if there were no women in the world," added that sharp observer, with a sudden glance at Vincent, who saw the thin lines again move about her mouth, "you might easily do without giving yourself much trouble. Mr. Vincent, if this lady won't leave us, might I trouble you to talk? For two strains of thought, carried on at the same moment, now that I'm out of society, are too exhausting for me."

With which speech she gravely pinned her work to her knee, threaded her needle with a long thread of blue cotton, and began her work with the utmost composure, leaving her two visitors in the awkward _tete-a-tete_ position which the presence of a third person, entirely absorbed in her own employment, with eyes and face abstracted, naturally produces. Never in his life had Vincent been so anxious to appear to advantage--never had he been so totally deprived of the use of his faculties. His eager looks, his changing colour, perhaps interceded for him with the beautiful stranger, who was not ignorant of those signs of subjugation which she saw so often.

"I think it was you that were so good as to clear the way for me the last time I was here," she said, with the sweetest grace, raising those lovely eyes, which put even Tozer beside himself, to the unfortunate pastor's face. "I remember fancying you must be a stranger here, as I had not seen you anywhere in society. Those wonderful little wretches never seem to come to any harm. They always appear to me to be scrambling among the horses' feet. Fancy, Rachel, one of those boys who flourish in the back streets, with such rags--oh, such rags!--you could not possibly _make_ them, if you were to try, with scissors--such perfection must come of itself;--had just pushed in before me, and I don't know what I should have done, if Mr. ---- (I beg your pardon)--if _you_ had not cleared the way."

"Mr. Vincent," said Mrs. Hilyard breaking in upon Vincent's deprecation.

"I am glad to hear you had somebody to help you in such a delicate distress. We poor women can't afford to be so squeamish. What! are you going away? My dear, be sure you say down-stairs that you brought that poor creature some tea and sugar, and how grateful she was. That explains everything, you know, and does my lady credit at the same time.

Good-bye. Well, I'll kiss you if you insist upon it; but what can Mr.

Vincent think to see such an operation performed between us? There! my love, you can make the men do what you like, but you know of old you never could conquer me."

"Then you will refuse over and over again--and you don't mind what I say--and you know he's in Lonsdale, and why he's there, and all about him----"

"Hush," said the dark woman, looking all the darker as she stood in that bright creature's shadow. "I know, and always will know, wherever he goes, and that he is after evil wherever he goes; and I refuse, and always will refuse--and my darling pretty Alice," she cried, suddenly going up with rapid vehemence to the beautiful young woman beside her, and kissing once more the delicate rose-cheek to which her own made so great a contrast, "I _don't_ mind in the least what you say."

"Ah, Rachel, I don't understand you," said Lady Western, looking at her wistfully.

"You never did, my dear; but don't forget to mention about the tea and sugar as you go down-stairs," said Mrs. Hilyard, subsiding immediately, not without the usual gleam in her eyes and movement of her mouth, "else it might be supposed you came to have your fortune told, or something like that; and I wish your ladys.h.i.+p _bon voyage_, and no encounter with ragged boys in your way. Mr. Vincent," she continued, with great gravity, standing in the middle of the room, when Vincent, trembling with excitement, afraid, with the embarra.s.sing timidity of inferior position, to offer his services, yet chafing in his heart to be obliged to stay, reluctantly closed the door, which he had opened for Lady Western's exit, "tell me why a young man of your spirit loses such an opportunity of conducting the greatest beauty in Carlingford to her carriage? Suppose she should come across another ragged boy, and faint on the stairs?"

"I should have been only too happy; but as I am not so fortunate as to know Lady Western," said the young minister, hesitating, "I feared to presume----"

With an entirely changed aspect his strange companion interrupted him.

"Lady Western could not think that any man whom she met in _my_ house presumed in offering her a common civility," said Mrs. Hilyard, with the air of a d.u.c.h.ess, and an imperious gleam out of her dark eyes. Then she recollected herself, gave her startled visitor a comical look, and dropped into her chair, before which that coa.r.s.est of poor needlewoman's work was lying. "_My_ house! it does look like a place to inspire respect, to be sure," she continued, with a hearty perception of the ludicrous, which Vincent was much too preoccupied to notice. "What fools we all are! but, my dear Mr. Vincent, you are too modest. My Lady Western could not frown upon anybody who honoured her with such a rapt observation. Don't fall in love with her, I beg of you. If she were merely a flirt, I shouldn't mind, but out of her very goodness she's dangerous. She can't bear to give pain to anybody, which of course implies that she gives double and treble pain when the time comes.

There! I've warned you; for of course you'll meet again."

"Small chance of that," said Vincent, who had been compelling himself to remain quiet, and restraining his impulse, now that the vision had departed, to rush away out of the impoverished place. "Small chance of that," he repeated, drawing a long breath, as he listened with intent ears to the roll of the carriage which carried Her away; "society in Carlingford has no room for a poor Dissenting minister."

"All the better for him," said Mrs. Hilyard, regarding him with curious looks, and discerning with female acuteness the haze of excitement and incipient pa.s.sion which surrounded him. "Society's all very well for people who have been brought up in it; but for a young recluse like you, that don't know the world, it's murder. Don't look affronted. The reason is, you expect too much--twenty times more than anybody ever finds. But you don't attend to my philosophy. Thinking of your sermon, Mr. Vincent?

And how is our friend the b.u.t.terman? I trust life begins to look more cheerful to you under his advice."

"Life?" said the preoccupied minister, who was gazing at the spot where that lovely apparition had been; "I find it change its aspects perpetually. You spoke of Lonsdale just now, did you not? Is it possible that you know that little place? My mother and sister live there."